


Tantalus

by Not_You



Series: The Zen And Art Of Getting Naked To Music [6]
Category: The Amazing Spider-Man (Movies - Webb)
Genre: Aftercare, Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Stripper/Exotic Dancer, Angst, Awkward Sexual Situations, Awkwardness, Butt Plugs, Comeplay, Custody Arrangements, Dirty Talk, Face-Fucking, Facials, Father-Son Relationship, Hand Jobs, Jealousy, Kink Shame, M/M, POV Alternating, Phantom Limb Pain, Pining, Polyamory Negotiations, Rough Sex, Scars, Sex Toys, Spanking, Teacher-Student Relationship, Verbal Bondage, Verbal Humiliation, Voyeurism, emily post never told us what to do here, flash thompson is a menace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-23
Updated: 2015-08-11
Packaged: 2018-04-10 19:51:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 11,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4405274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Not_You/pseuds/Not_You
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter meets his regular in the light of day and Flash gets a little insecure.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

School being back in session means fewer shifts and less cash, but Peter really does love his classes. He's particularly excited for this one. He's more of an engineer than a biologist, but only a fool would think the two fields have nothing to do with each other. Besides, it's being taught by Curt Connors, who did that fascinating study on autotomy and tissue regeneration in lizards as compared with spiny mice and their possible applications in human medicine.

Peter is literally running late, sprinting down the hall and stopping at the auditorium door to catch his breath for a few seconds before plunging inside and grabbing a seat in the front row. He prefers to be further back, but it's the closest and he seems to be the last arrival, so he slumps into it and arranges his things on his desk as the girl next to him passes him a syllabus. He thanks her quietly and then looks up, watching Dr. Connors arrange his notes with one hand. The movement is a little awkward, and Peter realizes that the other arm is missing from just above the elbow, the sleeve neatly doubled over and pinned in place. It's just the same place as his sad-eyed regular, and as he looks up from his notes with a small smile, Peter realizes that it's the same person. He can see Dr. Connors recognizing him in turn, and the shame and real terror that flickers across his face is heartbreaking.

Somehow he keeps control of himself, and is only a little pale as he greets everyone and asks anyone who doesn't have a copy of the syllabus to raise their hand. Once that's sorted out, he introduces himself and the course. Peter has to admire his courage, and does his best to be unobtrusive. He takes some notes and draws a little cell diagram with everyone else, and doesn't ask any questions because that would make poor Curt have to talk to him in front of the class, which is just cruel.

Peter does hang around afterward, though. He's not sure if this is cruel or not, but it's probably better for the pair of them to decide what they're going to do sooner rather than later. Curt stares down at his notes like they hold the secrets of the universe, and the room empties around them. As the silence settles into place, Curt looks up with so much shame in his eyes that it makes Peter's chest hurt to see it.

“Hey,” he says, coming closer and trying to think of something more substantial to say.

“I just... I wasn't expecting you. I'm sorry.”

“Hey, don't be sorry.” He puts a hand on Curt's forearm and wonders if he's making it worse. “You haven't done anything wrong.”

Curt glances up from Peter's hand to his face again. “Really?”

“Jesus, Curt. No one's forcing us to work there. You're not like, supporting sex slavery or something.”

“...I guess I just feel like a dirty old man.”

Peter smiles. “Well, you're my favorite dirty old man.”

Curt blushes and shuffles his notes back into their manila folder. “Thank you. I think.”

“This looks like a great class, but I can drop it.”

“...No. I don't want to interfere with your education, and almost all the actual instructor interaction will be with the T.A. leading your lab.”

“All right.” He goes back to his seat and gathers his own things. “Will I ever see you at the club again?”

Curt gives him an unhappy smile. “I don't know if I can stay away.”

“A man needs his vices,” Peter says, and winks in a way that's all Rock before walking out. It's not like this hasn't fried his brain, but Curt feeling so bad about showing up at a strip club, tipping well, and being polite to everyone is some kind of crime. Sure, Peter is technically young enough to be his son, but there are so many more sordid things Curt could be doing. He doesn't even get drunk at SHIELD, for fuck's sake.

Peter says as much to Flash in a text message, and isn't surprised to get an immediate reply even though Flash is in a lecture of his own.

_pete r u shitting me_

_nope_

_i need 2 beat his ass?_

_stfu, he's nice. and pay attention, you slacker._

Flash has the decency not to reply, but he looks sulky and anxious when they meet at the bus stop, and his hug of greeting turns into a cling. Peter just sighs and rubs Flash's buzzed hair. “Seriously?” 

“You talk about him a lot and now he's all science-y,” Flash mutters, and Peter laughs, pulling back to look at him. 

“Baby,” he says, “don't be ridiculous.” 

Flash blushes a little, but takes Peter's hand as they make the trek down to student parking. 


	2. Chapter 2

Curt somehow makes it through the rest of his day, but he doesn't remember much about it later. He flees home as soon as his office hours are over and pours himself a stiff drink. The medication has reduced his consumption, but otherwise his taste is the same as ever, and the scent of bitters is soothing as he sips an Old Fashioned from a two-cup measure and wonders where his life went wrong.

Of course there are no unwounded soldiers, and even if he hadn't lost his arm in Afghanistan it would have changed him. But maybe Martha could have handled his perversions without his PTSD, or the PTSD without the perversions. But between both of them and with Billy added to the mix, it had all been too much. It's not as if Curt doesn't understand. He had tried to meet her halfway and it had been so damned difficult. Whatever Peter says, Curt is something of a monster inside.

It doesn't help that he misses Billy. Since Martha is still living near the school he loves so much and where he's doing so well, Curt can't really bring himself to ask for more time. Summers will have to be enough for now. Pain shoots through the ghost of his right hand and he hisses, closing his eyes and clenching and unclenching that remembered hand and breathing deeply. A mirror box or TENS would help, but usually he can ease the pain if he just keeps breathing. He has it down to a manageable level when his phone rings. All the different tones are soothing sounds, and this is the bird call that Billy had chosen for himself two years ago. Curt smiles, and picks it up.

“Hi, Dad!”

“Hi. Have you settled in?”

“Yeah. Mom painted while I was gone, but she left the genome alone.”

Curt had painted that for Billy's fifth birthday, explaining as he did that each line of bright color was a picture of a tiny part of Billy himself. The south wall of his son's room is a loving portrait done with his own left hand (never as good as the right, even after all these years) and the thought of anyone painting over it makes his heart ache. “I'm glad,” is all he says. “Did she actually change the color?”

“Yeah! The rest of the house is plain ol' white, but she remembered that I said I wanted green next time.”

Curt chuckles. “Your mother is very good about that sort of thing. I trust she's all right?”

“Yeah. Are you all right?”

Curt really does hate that note in his voice. Billy is too young to worry about Curt the way he does. “I'm fine, son,” he says, and barely even feels bad about lying.

“If you say so, Dad.”

“I do say so,” he says, and Billy giggles. Curt asks him about the small news of the neighborhood and the coming school year, and by the time Billy hangs up, he really does almost feel all right. The awareness of his phantom hand has faded and taken the pain with it. There's a little ache in his stump, but he's used to that. He absently massages it as he looks over his lecture notes for Thursday. At least tomorrow he'll be expected to hide in his lab and do actual research. He sends up a silent prayer of gratitude for his T.A.s. He hates running undergrad labs anyway, and the thought of facing Peter in a setting like that sends him into a cold sweat.

It's so strange to know his real name, and to see his real face, bare of eyeliner and Rock's protective smirk, his hair fluffy and messy in a way that has nothing to do with product and everything to do with being a slovenly college student. He looks sweet in his real face, something Curt has only caught glimpses of before. He has known for some time that he's in a lot more trouble than a crush on a particularly hot stripper. That's pathetic enough at his age, but even before today he had wondered who Rock really was, and had found the tiny glimpses of his real self fascinating. He feels like a stalker for knowing when Peter's birthday is, and like an utter creep for watching him on break with his boyfriend, but there's no hope for it. Rock is every sin he never dared commit, gorgeous and wild, and the addition of one tiny facet of the real man at a time has made things much worse than that.


	3. Chapter 3

Flash really tries not to be a jealous douche. Peter is a stripper, for fuck's sake. Guys drool over him every time he goes to work, and that's mostly fine, because Peter is with Flash. Everyone at the club is a customer, guys that Peter is doing his best to squeeze money out of even when he likes them as people. But Curt fucking Connors. 'The Fugitive,' as Flash has been calling him this whole time, since he has one arm and looks furtive as hell. The Fugitive has always been special. Peter wonders about him and worries about him and thinks he has a loveable face. Now that the Fugitive is some kind of amazing biologist who knew Peter's dad and is all full of wisdom and sexy lab equipment on top of being kinda shabby-elegant in a way Flash _knows_ Peter has a weakness for, it's all just a little bit much.

Having Peter face down and ass up helps a lot. Flash is still pretty new to all this stuff, but Peter is moaning into the pillow, wriggling and pushing his ass up and back into Flash's hand as he spanks him. Each heavy smack shocks back up Flash's arm, and it's so fucking good. The way Peter gasps and the perfect resilience of his pole-toned ass and the sting of skin on skin and above all, the way Peter wants this. He's shaking, begging Flash for more and for harder, his voice cracking as he clutches at the sheets and arches his back so much it's as obscene as it is beautiful.

Flash totally knows what to do during this part. Hell, he's even learning not to let it ruin everything when he fucks up and accidentally catches Peter's balls during a spanking or whatever. Last time they had even managed to get back into it. Flash is proud of his progress, but he's still pretty bad at the part that comes after. He's not worried about that now, though, because Peter is moaning over and over and his ass is bright red. Flash grabs one cheek, digging his nails in, and Peter whines.

“Please,” he moans, “Flash, please...”

“Hurt you enough for now, baby?” Flash growls, reaching for the lube. “Hold yourself open for me.” Peter makes a helpless little noise and obeys, shaking. He seems to love being ordered around like this, and Flash loves doing it, but he hasn't found the guts to really talk about it yet. For now he just gets a condom on and slicks himself up. “You want me to make this easy on you, or not?”

“Don't!” Peter gasps, looking over his shoulder, face glistening with tears and sweat. “Please Flash, just give it to me, make me take it!”

And god help Flash, but he loves this. Loves just trusting to the lube and forcing his way into Peter while he shakes and gasps and whines, his cock dripping onto the sheets under them. Flash just keeps pushing as Peter tightens and relaxes around him, struggling to take it all and muffling helpless little squeals into the pillow, still holding himself open for Flash.

“You can let go, baby,” Flash says, grinding in as deep as he can. “I got you.” The way Peter just _melts_ is kinda scary, but then Flash is fucking him as hard as he can and neither of them can think about anything. His thighs and belly are slapping Peter's ass all over again, and he's making those hoarse, desperate sobbing noises that only come out of him when Flash is hurting him just right. He had heard it a few times in high school without knowing what it was, and now he feels drunk on how many times he gets to hear it. He tells Peter so, too far gone to have any kind of filter left, biting his ear and calling him all kinds of terrible names and telling him how fucking good he feels and what pretty noises he makes.

When Flash finally decides to stop torturing Peter and give him a reach-around, it only takes about three strokes before he comes, shaking and wailing and taking Flash with him, the two of them sinking down onto the mattress in a shuddering heap. Pretty soon is the part that Flash is bad at, but for now he just kisses the back of Peter's neck and catches his breath.


	4. Chapter 4

Peter comes up slowly, and he dimly feels bad about the time the process is taking. He knows it scares Flash to see him like this, but at least these days he's got him trained. He knows to just hold Peter and keep him warm until further instructions. They totally need to like, talk about everything, but for now it's good to just be cuddled. Flash still doesn't seem to get how much anything nice he says right now means, but he's learning.

“You're really beautiful, Pete,” he says softly, like he's embarrassed about it. It's a lot better than nothing, though, and Peter coos and snuggles even closer. They'll need to ice him down soon, since a few bruises are hot but too many make customers afraid they _are_ supporting some godawful coercive thing, but for now Peter feels like he'd cry or something if Flash let go of him. There's no sign of that, thankfully. Flash holds him tight and mutters praise into his hair like that will keep Peter from hearing it, and he breathes in Flash's scent and listens to the slow, loud beat of his heart.

“Love you,” Peter hears himself say, his voice cracking with it. It isn't the first time, but the new is probably never going to wear off because it means so much that it hurts Flash a little to hear it. Now he shivers and squeezes Peter.

“Me too,” he whispers, huge hand rubbing Peter's back. “I love you, too.” He's starting to sound a little shaky, and Peter sighs, pressing a kiss over his heart.

“Flash, sweetheart. You know I love what we do, too. Don't get lame on me.”

Flash laughs, and kisses Peter's forehead. “Okay. Okay, baby. Come on, let's get you fixed up.” It's a bit past six now, and Peter works nine to close tonight.

“Yeah, you're right.” He gives Flash a last squeeze and sits up, stretching his arms and wincing a bit. Flash chuckles, and kisses him again before putting a towel over the wet spot, rolling Peter onto his belly and putting the covers over him before going to assemble Peter's aftercare kit. The apartment is small enough to hear him rattling around and Peter smiles, dozing for a few minutes before waking to Flash's presence beside him.

They've settled into a routine by now, and Flash ices Peter's ass and feeds him a neon-bright sports drink and the discount brand of horrible corn chips (covered in what must for legal reasons before referred to as 'cheez') that he grew up on. Flash has a test coming up, so he'll be staying home to study for most of the evening, but he would be coming to collect Peter at the end of his shift even if they hadn't scened. Peter feels pretty solid, but it's still comforting to know that Flash will be there for him, and the way he blushes when he says so is adorable.

Thanks to Flash's technique improving, there isn't much bruising when the ice comes off, and Peter hops up to shower. He aches, but it's enjoyable and won't get in the way. Well, maybe a bit by close, but that happens anyway, the way Peter dances. He always does his makeup at the club, but Rock's hair is a real process, and much more comfortable to do at home. Gwen had actually started him on it for a Halloween costume, and even though it takes at least twenty minutes and three kinds of product to look like some people do when they roll out of bed in the morning, it really does seem to make a difference in his tips. All the while Flash is changing the bed and laundering the sheets and starting something in the slow-cooker like the good little housewife he kind of is on the inside. Peter snickers, but doesn't say anything because it always stings Flash's delicate masculine ego.

Soon Peter is dressed for public transit, and Flash has a sandwich ready for him. There's a twenty-four-hour diner near the club, but the money adds up and Peter gets tired of the menu. Flash's green apple and ham grilled cheese isn't available, anyway. Once he has fussed over Peter enough, he makes one for himself and they eat in companionable silence before Peter gives Flash a last kiss and heads out, promising to help him review tomorrow.


	5. Chapter 5

It's almost two in the morning and Curt can't sleep. His arm aches and trying to lie still and breathe just makes it worse. A particularly brutal flash of pain propels him up and out of bed, and he throws his clothes back on and is out the door in a moment. He tries to pretend that he's not going to SHIELD even though there's such a high risk of running into Peter, but when he feels this restless at this hour, there's nowhere else to go. It's so close to close that he doesn't have to pay cover, and he isn't sure if he's more humiliated or touched that the bouncer he met at Big Daddy's remembers him.

One thing that Curt really can tell himself in perfect truth is that he didn't know Rock was on tonight. Despite his sad little obsession with him, Curt likes to watch the others. Star is a charming little thing, and Roman is so beautiful that straight men dragged in by evil gay friends enjoy his performance. So Curt settles into a shadowy booth in the not unreasonable hope that he'll be able to sip his drink and have gorgeous boys take his mind off the pain in his arm without having to acknowledge that he has gone from a loser hung up on a stripper to a creeper hung up on one of his own students.

And then Peter swings onto one of the small stages, and Curt is captivated, just like every other time. Peter attacks the pole with his usual lithe grace as 'Closer' thumps along in the background, and Curt just sits there with his chin in his hand, the pain in his stump long forgotten. There are finger-shaped bruises on Peter's hips and bite marks on the side of his neck and Curt longs to sink his teeth into that clear, pale skin.

“Hey.” It's not a very loud greeting, but it's sudden, and Curt jumps, almost knocking his drink over. Looking up doesn't reassure him one bit. It's the boyfriend, who looks more able to beat Curt into a fine powder than ever. He glances sidelong to be sure the bouncer is within sight, and feels ancient and pathetic for doing it.

“Good evening,” he says to the boyfriend, and gestures to the seat opposite him. His visitor sits down and then shifts around the table until he can watch Peter as well, leaving a generous space between them.

“So I'm Flash and that's my boyfriend up there,” he says, and Curt sighs.

“Flash...” he wonders what the real name is. Something unfashionable, presumably. “I can assure you that I'm no threat.”

“Actually, you can't.”

“...What?”

“You can't assure that, since I know Pete is into you.” Peter doesn't seem like a Pete at all, and there's something charming in the fact that Flash calls him that anyway, even as his words make Curt tense and grip his glass tightly.

“I don't know you,” Curt says as evenly as he can, “but that strikes me as a very unkind falsehood.” Flash snorts, and then they both lose their train of thought for a moment as Peter writhes around the pole, blatantly displaying the marks on his skin. “Did you give him those?” Curt asks.

“...Yeah. Not, not like a fuckin' Lifetime movie, he likes it and we have safewords and stuff.”

“The way he wears them, I would never have thought otherwise.” He still hasn't taken his eyes off of Peter, but he can feel Flash relax a little beside him.

“...You into that stuff?” he asks, almost too low to hear over the pounding music.

Curt has to laugh, since he's so 'into this stuff' that it contributed to the failure of his marriage, but stifles it before Flash can really get angry. “Yes, I am.”

“Then what's so fucking funny?”

“If my ex-wife had taken that much delight in a pretty set of bruises, we might still be married.”

“...Seriously?”

“Oh, yes.” He finishes his drink as the song winds down, Peter lazily spinning down the pole to come to rest on a stage covered in tips. Flash's proud smile is very sweet, and he waves to Peter as he collects the last of his money. Rock is too cool to do anything but wink, but he sees them and can't quite hide his surprise. Curt really hopes that he's not blushing. It looks so ridiculous at his time of life.

“Buy you a drink?” Flash asks as someone beautiful but much less compelling takes the stage.

“Thank you.” Flash flags down a waiter and Curt orders the same again, but, “weaker, I'm an old man.”

Flash rolls his eyes when the waiter leaves. “Dude, you are not that old.”

“I'm twice Peter's age.”

“Well, yeah, you're _old_ , but you're not here on furlough from the nursing home.”

“Quite the sweet-talker, aren't you?” Curt says, a little more acidly than he means to.

Flash has the decency to cringe a little. “Sorry, man.”

Curt smiles. “That's all right.”

“You really are pretty cute,” Flash tells him, and now Curt knows he's blushing.


	6. Chapter 6

Flash usually hangs out on the rail with the exhibitionists and high rollers, but Curt is of course way out in the land of the shy guys and the cheapskates. It's late enough that there aren't many of any kind of customer left, so Peter can make his way over to them without turning down money. Flash grins at him and holds out his arm as Peter slides into the booth and then cuddles in against his side.

“Having a good night, baby?”

Peter yawns. “Yeah. I had to listen to this total douche for an hour, but he tipped to impress.” He leans a bit across Flash to smile at Curt. “And I'm glad to see you here, Curt.”

“Thank you,” Curt says softly, and God help Flash but he's _adorable_ , all bookish and shy and deferent. It's kind of hard to believe that they both like slapping a consenting loved one around, but Peter keeps telling Flash that he's exceptionally obvious, fitting with vanilla stereotypes the way he does.

“Glad to see you holdin' up, baby,” Flash, says, kissing Peter's cheek as the last call for alcohol goes out.

Peter giggles in a very un-Rock way that Flash loves to hear. “Doin' _great_.”

Curt drains his drink. “Thank you for your hospitality, Flash.”

“Hey,” Peter says softly, before he can stand up and leave them, “you want to come to the diner with us?”

“...Thank you,” Curt says, and Flash is sure he's gearing himself up for a polite denial, but he stays.

“Awesome,” Peter says, and kisses Flash's cheek. “I'll go see if I can pick up a last dance. You know where to meet me.” He slides out of the booth and struts off.

“Is it really all right with you?” Curt murmurs, barely audible over the music.

“Yeah,” Flash says, a little surprised at himself. “Yeah, it is. I dunno, I kinda like you.”

Curt chuckles. “Thank you. You have your own charm. Are you a student, too?”

“Yeah. Physics major, though.” He can see the usual surprise on Curt's face, but like a gentleman he doesn't say anything about it. “I'm studying for a fucking English test right now, though.” He grimaces, and Curt smiles.

“I always hated those core humanities requirements.” He sounds fond and wistful and like somebody's dad, but in a really cute way, like Flash has some kind of latent tweedy professor fetish. Hell, maybe he does, since Peter is probably gonna look a lot like this at Curt's age. He'll hopefully still have all his limbs, though.

Thor comes by for their glasses, and after watching Curt make an awkward cross-body reach brings the question out of Flash's mouth without any time spent in his brain. “Why don't you have a fake arm?”

Curt pauses in a way that seems to drop the ambient temperature by about fifty degrees. “Fake implies that one is trying to hide the true nature of the substitution.”

“Shit, I'm sorry. I'm sorry I even asked, but yeah, artificial? Prosthetic?”

Curt chuckles, the sound a little bitter. “You're right, though. I don't have one because it does feel fake. That and the nerves in the stump react like they've been set on fire.”

“God, I am such an asshole,” Flash mutters. “I'm really sorry.”

“Too direct is better than pretending not to notice. And I lost it in Afghanistan.”

“Dude, I wasn't gonna ask _that_.” Flash's shoulders hunch with his urge to hide, and Curt chuckles, a little more genuine this time, and pats his shoulder. “I'm a recovering asshole,” Flash mutters, and Curt laughs aloud, looking a hell of a lot younger with it. “Seriously, I put freshmen in trash cans.”

“Not nice, certainly,” Curt says, “but if it didn't get much worse than that, I'd say there's hope for you.”

Flash smiles. “Thanks.”

Curt smiles back and then looks past him. “Who is that alarmingly adorable boy?”

Flash looks over. “Oh, that's Cypher. Real name's Doug, you know how it is.”

“Indeed.” His gaze flicks back to Flash's face. “Come to think of it, what's _your_ legal name?”

“Pft. Eugene. The whole thing's too fussy, and I don't like Gene.”

“I see,” Curt says, and then Clint stops by to tell them to either get out or go be stage-door johnnies so the last few drunk guys can't whine that they're being allowed to hang around. They take the second option, leaning on the wall by the emergency exit in the back while they wait for Peter to get street-legal again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not tagged for ableism because I just see Flash being rude, let me know if you disagree.


	7. Chapter 7

Peter is tired and maybe a little subby and definitely hungry for cheese fries. It's starting to actually get chilly out, so he puts on a big, baggy, grey sweater that makes him look like Steve, and comes stumbling out with smeared eye makeup to wrap Flash's arm around his waist.

“Diner time.”

“Yes,” Flash says, and the three of them walk out together. Peter reaches for Curt's hand, and after a moment of surprise, he lets him take it and even squeezes gently. It's an easy walk to the diner, and there's the usual small crowd of drunks and other degenerates. Curt lets go of Peter's hand, and that hurts a little, but he follows them into a corner booth and smiles at Peter as he cuddles in against Flash's side, and that feels a little better.

“Tired,” Peter says as an excuse for hiding his face in Flash's shoulder. “Order my usual.”

“You got it, boss,” Flash says, chuckling a little and petting his hair.

“And what is his usual?” Curt asks, scanning his own menu. He talks like it's normal for Peter to be like this, and it's weird how warm that makes him feel.

“Basket of regular fries, side of dipping cheese, chocolate-strawberry milkshake. It's a Thing.”

Curt chuckles. “I see.”

Peter pretends to doze until everyone has put in his order, but then makes himself sit up and be an adult. “I'm glad to see you guys getting along,” he says, and Flash laughs.

“Did you think I was gonna fight him?”

“I was afraid you might have a relapse.”

“Nah. He's lucky he's cute, though.” He kisses the corner of Peter's eye. “You're kinda punchy, aren't you?”

“Yeah,” Peter says. “I feel like I should be hosting more.”

“You just got off work,” Curt says, “and it's half-past three in the morning.”

“Point,” Peter says, and yawns. “But it really is good to see you. I was afraid I had scared you off for good.”

“It wouldn't be any fault of yours, Peter,” he says.

“Okay,” Peter says in a small voice he usually doesn't use in public. Flash shivers a little next to him.

“Really, I'm glad that you don't think I'm a complete creep, and that your boyfriend is so tolerant.”

“I think you're sweet,” Peter says, and Curt blushes.

The three of them manage to have a very pleasant conversation about parthenogenesis in lizards, and Peter pays over everyone's objections and gives Curt an impulsive hug before curling up in the passenger seat of Flash's car. It's good to have someone to drive him home, and once they get there he pulls Flash into bed and cuddles into his arms and demands all the covers.

“Jeez,” Flash mutters, piling the blankets onto him, “I thought you said you were okay.” He sounds way too guilty, again.

“Flash, shut the fuck up,” Peter mumbles, clinging to him as soon as he stops moving. “Hugs now. I love you.”

“I love you too, you pain in the ass,” Flash mutters, and holds him close. “Y'know,” he says after a long silence, “Curt said he was into this stuff.”

“Everyone likes hugs.”

“Don't be an asshole, Peter.”

“Okay,” Peter says softly, nuzzling Flash's chest. “Top or bottom?”

“Top.”

“Fuck, that's hot.”

“...Kinda, yeah.”

“For you, too?”

“Yeah. I keep telling you, I really don't know how to do this.”

“You're doing fine, but if you want me to entice my hot teacher into a three-way, just say so.”

They laugh and snuggle down to sleep together, but over breakfast and between quizzing Flash on metaphysical poets that he doesn't care about, they talk about it more seriously. Flash is still a bit jealous, and Peter agrees that it might be best to start off by inviting Curt to watch. And to at least cuddle and kiss Peter, because it just seems mean to invite a guy and not even let him do that much, to say nothing of just how badly Peter wants to touch him.

“Fuck,” Flash says, shrugging, “I'll probably wanna kiss him, too.” They're sprawled on the couch, sharing a bag of stale kettle corn as the autumn sunlight slants into the room, making Flash's discarded Norton Anthology and the papers around it glow.

“I definitely want to watch that,” Peter says, and kisses the corner of Flash's jaw as those strong arms tighten around him.


	8. Chapter 8

Somehow Curt survives seeing Peter all smudged and tired and sweet, but the image haunts him. The way he had melted into Flash's side, all tender and needy and so brave, being social anyway. Curt can tell that Flash barely gets what aftercare even is, and it's very annoying to have his urge to teach all tangled up in this thing. Not that he does much teaching anymore, really. Just lectures and grading and he has to thank a god he's pretty sure isn't there for that, because with the way Peter is watching him now, they'd get into real trouble if he was running any of the labs.

Just knowing that Peter is there on Tuesdays and Thursdays, sitting up near the back and taking what appear to be very comprehensive notes is enough to make Curt break into a sweat, and sometimes it's hard to keep his voice even. He concentrates on his lecture notes and on making the idiots answer questions and anything but Peter's pretty face and the hungry, considering look on it. That look features in entirely too many sexual fantasies before Peter finally takes either takes pity on him or decides to destroy him completely, lingering after everyone else has left, gotten Curt to answer their questions, and come back for abandoned purses.

“Curt?” he asks softly, when they're actually alone together in this massive, silent space, no one watching the rows of empty seats.

“Yes?”

Peter blushes and smiles. “Well, Flash and I have a proposition for you.”

Curt actually feels faint for a moment, but manages not to do anything stupid. “I... we should talk about this somewhere else. When we have more time.”

“Public or private?” Peter asks. “I want you to be comfortable.”

“...Private,” Curt says. “And thank you, even if your goal is probably impossible.”

“Well, let me try, anyway,” he says, and then asks for Curt's phone, taking it and adding himself to the contact list. He smiles as he hands it back. “There. I'm free after four today, give me a call.”

“Okay,” Curt says, and just tries to keep breathing as he watches Peter walk out.

He almost doesn't make the call, but at five he's about to head home and image of Peter waiting around somewhere intrudes itself onto his consciousness. He sighs, makes sure the briefcase he carries his notes in is order, and goes out to his car. He feels like a dirty old man again but selects Peter's number and calls anyway.

“Curt?” And he sounds so happy and hopeful and _young_ that Curt has to close his eyes and take a deep breath.

“Yes. I was going to go home for dinner, and I was wondering if you would care to join me.”

“I would! So would Flash, but he'll understand if the two of us together seems a little overwhelming.”

And Curt thinks of Flash, and his earnest face and the way he looks at Peter, and he says, “Bring him with you. I wouldn't want him to feel left out.”

“As long as you _really_ don't mind,” Peter says, and Curt assures him that he doesn't mind and gives him the address, assuring him that they needn't bring anything.

Curt may be a divorced man living alone, but he has maintained standards. As such, he has actual fresh ingredients and can make a decent meal for three without too much effort. Everything is under control, baking or simmering when he gets a call from Peter, letting him know that he and Flash are on their way up. This gives him just enough time to panic, comb his hair, and put on a fresh shirt. Mercifully pinning the right sleeve is part of his laundry routine, so he doesn't have fold the sleeve and hold the corner with his teeth while he gets the pin open in his hand and all the rest of it. He just has to get the buttons right, and that takes two tries. Just as he gets the last one there's a knock on his door, and he jumps and then sternly tells himself to walk to the door and open it like a normal person. His guests are standing in the hallway and have brought something in a bakery box anyway, apparently too well brought up not to. 

“I figured we could get dessert,” Peter says, looking around at the apartment as he walks in, Flash like a shadow behind him. Flash is wearing a grey sweatshirt with the hood up, hands jammed in the kangaroo pocket, and he looks at nervous as Curt feels, which is a bit of a relief in the face of Peter's ease. He goes into the kitchen like he lives here and sets the box down so he can take off his jacket. “I hope you like cake.”

“It's cupcakes, so there's more than one kind,” Flash adds, hanging Peter's jacket, “because only almost everybody likes chocolate.”

Curt smiles. “I'm sure they'll be a nice accompaniment. Can I get either of you a drink?”

He can get both of them a drink, and his one-handed shortcuts for mixing whiskey sours make a good enough party trick to make Flash stop hiding in his sweatshirt.


	9. Chapter 9

Flash is trying not to be a total loser. He's cool with this. He really is, and that's most of what's making him so fucking nervous. Curt is adorable, and sitting on his green corduroy couch and watching him blush as Peter explains everything just makes him cuter.

“We want you to watch,” Peter is saying, lounging against Flash like he sits in the middle of green corduroy couches and negotiates polyamorous hookups with professors all the time. It's a good look on him, but then again, most things are. On the other side of him, Curt takes a strengthening sip of drink.

“As you might have inferred from my frequenting a strip club, the idea certainly appeals to me,” he says in that measured, repressed tone that's so unbearably fucking hot. 

Flash is really getting scared of falling in love with him, even if he and Peter have talked about that eventuality and how poly is a thing and all that. After all, he's still getting over the complete terror of falling in love with Peter while realizing that he's bi and a kinky freak, besides.

“Flash?”

He blinks, coming back to the conversation. “Yeah, Pete?”

“Since we're all amenable, how should we set this up?”

This takes a little more discussion, but before long they've agreed that they'll just have Curt over to Flash's apartment, because it has the thickest walls and is where they keep the best toys. Flash will be topping Peter like he usually does, and Curt gets to watch them and to kiss and hold Peter when Flash says he can, and not before.

“You can probably also help with the aftercare part,” Flash says, “but that's really up to Peter.”

“I think I'll want you to,” Peter adds, “but you know it's hard to be sure ahead of time.”

“I do,” Curt says, swirling his drink a little in the glass. “I suppose you're working weekends, so that might not be the best time...”

“It isn't, but I never work Mondays and my classes are over by half-past three, so...”

“Okay,” Curt says, flushing light pink across his cheekbones and draining the last of his drink. “Flash?”

“Hey, it suits me. I'm done a bit before him.” Flash also doesn't have to work, which makes him feel like a total sponge sometimes even if a good sixty percent of his allowance goes to Peter-related things, but right now is convenient as hell. They agree to meet up at Flash's place at four, and Curt jumps off the couch like it burned him, fleeing into the kitchen to probably actually check on the food as well as to get his shit together. Flash wishes he had an excuse half that good, and settles for hiding his face in Peter's shoulder and mumbling, “Ohmygod,” a few times. Peter holds him and rubs his back until he can sit up again and drink his drink like a person, even if his hands are shaking a little.

“You know we don't have to do anything you don't want to,” Peter says, all patient and sweet.

Flash shakes his head. “No, dude. I know that. I'm kinda freaked out by how bad I do want to do this, and duh, wondering if I'll fuck it up.”

“I think we'll be okay,” Peter says.

“Gentlemen,” Curt says, poking his head out of the kitchen doorway, “dinner is served.” He's so fucking cute Flash can hardly stand it, and the food is so good that he has to bite back a marriage proposal. They talk over the food like normal people, and Peter flirts with Curt like he'll win a prize for every time he makes him blush.

They end up back on the couch afterward, Peter sitting sideways on Curt's lap as Flash leans against his left side, all three of them not really watching some foreign thing that had already been cued up. It's in German, and he thinks there's a plot he could be following, but he can't be sure. He can be sure that Curt is warm and nice to rest on, and that he cradles Peter like the indescribably precious thing he is. Peter sighs and buries his face in the front of Curt's shirt, reaching blindly back to take Flash's hand and lace their fingers together.


	10. Chapter 10

Peter of course can't leave without kissing Curt goodbye. He does it near the door, and Flash waits patiently. Curt's eyes widen when Peter cups his face and gently tugs him down, and he makes a soft, shocked little noise into Peter's mouth, that strong left arm wrapping tightly around his waist to hold him close, the right one pressing against his side in a bid to do the same with its missing length. Peter keeps the kiss chaste, but warm and lingering. He also can't resist touching the right arm, but carefully. Curt has said he still has a lot of pain in the stump, so Peter grips that shoulder, holding onto smooth, uninterrupted muscle. Curt shivers, and lets go reluctantly when Peter steps back at last.

“Good night, Curt,” he says softly. “Thanks for feeding us.”

“Thanks for... everything,” Curt says, with a soft, self-deprecating little smile that's really cute and really sad at the same time.

“I'm looking forward to Monday,” Peter says, and takes Flash's hand, leading the way out. In the car he has a sudden attack of nerves and needs Flash to tell him that he feels the same about four times before it goes away, but it finally does. They have to sit in the parking lot so Flash can hold him in his lap for a while, but the mood passes and they're able to get out and go up to the apartment to really start planning.

The weekend is almost unbearable, of course. Flash calls Peter at least eight times per shift and he can hardly even be annoyed. Besides, Sunday is slow as hell, anyway. Before, Curt would almost certainly have been here, lurking in a booth and looking so happy when Peter came to sit with him. He has always been too shy to actually get a lap dance, but very willing to lavishly tip the waitstaff for Peter's free sodas, and as long as _someone_ makes money, Peter can waste his time any way he likes.

Today he has to sit with a really boring guy who keeps trying to impress him with how much money he makes, probably angling for something outside the club. Peter just smiles and nods and goes over his current research project in his head and practically runs backstage when Flash calls him _again_.

“I'm sorry, dude,” Flash says by way of greeting, “but I'm kind of freaking out and I just really need to talk to you.”

“It's fine,” he says, sitting on his particular section of the makeup counter, “there's like, six guys here and I was probably with the most boring one.”

“Bleh. Good tipper, at least?”

“Reasonable. I think he wants me to offer to meet him somewhere, but you know that isn't happening.”

“I do. Now tell me again how boring he is and add some ugly.”

Peter laughs. “I guess he's good-looking, but it's so plastic it's worse than ugly with character. And he's talking to me about _golf_ , Flash. You know how I feel about guys who talk about golf.”

Flash laughs, and Peter smiles at how real it sounds. “There we go. Now, tell me about Anne Bradstreet.”

Flash groans, and Peter can picture the way he's rolling his eyes. “Anne Bradstreet lived in the early 1600s and she's the only metaphysical poet I care about because of the intimate nature and small scale of most of her work. Also she's a Real American Hero, being the first woman to be published from the colonies. So there.”

Peter laughs. “Good enough. Now work on your paper and don't freak out.”

Flash says he will, and calls Peter again barely an hour later. Monday morning is a relief for both of them, since class gives them something to do besides fret about how they've set their stage. They both wanted a sense of occasion without giving themselves a whole bunch of new tricks to fuck up, and Peter has been worrying about that balance all night. He's glad that he hasn't left himself any time to fuss with it. He just goes straight home from his last class and takes a shower. There's still steam on the mirror from Flash's shower, and he only has about twenty minutes to fidget with the toys. They haven't gone crazy with it. They've just moved Flash's bed a bit, hauled the good chair into his room, and put out towels, condoms, and lube. 

Peter blushes under the hot water, feeling giddy and unreal. He has a sudden, paranoid feeling that Curt will chicken out and stand them up, but knows a second later that he would at least have the decency to call them if he did and Flash is still muttering to himself in the other room without interruption. After another minute or two, Peter dries off and goes to join him, wrapping his arms around Flash's waist from behind and mumbling, “Relax,” into his shoulder.

Flash chuckles. “Sure thing, boss.”


	11. Chapter 11

Curt has never been so glad that his current post lets him practically live in his lab if he feels like it, because he most certainly does feel like it. There's nothing like working with genetic material to concentrate the mind. He actually comes up with a whole new approach to his lizard work, and ends up running late to his assignation. It's just as well, because this way he's worried about traffic lights on the way over and only has the time to begin having a panic attack when he's in the elevator and halfway up to the right floor. He leans against the back wall and takes deep breaths, counting backward from one thousand.

There's a terrible moment when he knocks on the door and is flooded with the irrational fear that he has the wrong number. Never mind that he has the right number and is not obviously here for immoral purposes. And then Flash opens the door and gestures for him to come in, smiling shyly. He's wearing and undershirt and grey pajama bottoms, and he's adorable even if he makes Curt feels a little overdressed.

“Hey,” he says, shutting the door behind Curt. “We were just starting to tell ourselves that you weren't technically late yet.”

“I'm not?” he says, setting his satchel down and shrugging out of his jacket. “Good.” Flash takes it and hangs it up.

“Nope. Well, okay, maybe by two minutes or something, but that's not late. You want a drink before we get started?”

“Please,” Curt says, picking up the satchel again and following Flash into the kitchen.

Peter is waiting for them in the bedroom, and there's a powerful sense of familiarity along with the nerves and desperate newness of this, because he has a cool glass in his hand and Peter is the center of attention. The room is neater than he was expecting, and has been set up for optimum viewing, a comfortable chair facing the long side of the bed, lamps arranged to make Peter's skin glow gold in the twilight of pulled curtains. He's kneeling on the center of the bed, arms behind his back, and Curt is intensely aware that he has never actually seen him naked before. He's about half hard, and he looks up and gives Curt a timid little smile that makes him want to cover him with kisses. Instead he smiles back, and settles into the chair.

“Watch,” Flash says, “and don't talk. Unless Peter talks to you. Answer him if he needs it.”

Curt nods, and sips his drink as Flash pulls off his shirt and sets it aside before crawling onto the bed to kiss Peter, who leans into it with a little moan, arms still obediently back. Flash holds him by the hair and makes quiet rumbling noises as he kisses Peter in that slow and rough way Curt has always loved, that leaves one's lips bruised later. Peter whines and sags into it, fully hard now with the speed of youth.

“Flash,” he whimpers, wriggling, and Flash chuckles.

“You can move your hands now, baby.”

Peter immediately clings to Flash, who pulls him into his lap, kissing and biting all over his neck and shoulders, brutal, possessive hands squeezing and kneading his ass and making him moan as he straddles Flash and tries to rut against his belly. He makes a desolate little noise when Flash pushes him away and onto his back, but he goes easily, straightening his legs and crossing his wrists above his head. Flash hovers over him, grinning down at him.

“Such a good little slut for me, aren't you?” he coos, and Curt hears a quiet gasp and realizes that he made it. Flash glances over at him with a private little smirk, and leans down to nibble Peter's ear without breaking eye contact. “Yes, my sweet little whore,” he croons. “You're my toy, aren't you, baby?” he asks, looking into Peter's eyes.

“Yes,” Peter says, breathy and lost and god, Curt wants to see him hurt. He shudders, and takes a long sip of his drink, eyes locked on Peter. Flash kisses him again and then sits back, his erection tenting the thin, grey fabric and leaking a few drops of precome that stain it darker grey. 

“Open yourself up for me, whore,” Flash growls, and Peter whimpers, shaking and gripping the backs of his knees, pulling his thighs as wide as they'll go, which is pretty damn wide. Curt shudders, draining his glass and setting it on the floor where he won't crush it or knock it off the arm of the chair. He may be more than twice their age, but he's on his way to getting as hard as his companions, uncomfortably bunching in his slacks. “You can take it out if you want,” Flash says, lubricating his fingers as Peter holds position, trembling. Curt shivers and unzips, hooking the waistband of his briefs under his balls. Peter turns his head to gaze at him with huge, dark eyes, the pink tip of his tongue wetting his lips and making Curt fear for his sanity. The way Peter cries out when Flash pushes two fingers into him convinces Curt that it's long gone, but now he can't even mind it.


	12. Chapter 12

As usual, now that Flash has Peter helpless under him, everything is fine. He loves the way Curt watches them, just as helpless as Peter, that fucking _nice_ cock out and on the verge of dripping already. Peter is completely down now, all syrupy and lost and beautiful. Flash purrs, stretching out beside him and fucking him as deep as he can with two fingers, knuckles grinding on his taint just the way he likes.

“Oh fuck fuck Flash, _please_ ,” Peter whines, struggling to take them even deeper, “please!”

“What do you want, baby?” Flash coos, stroking Peter's hair with his free hand. “How does my toy want me to use him?” Peter doesn't like being actually dehumanized, but degraded is fine. Flash is good with that, really. It might be cool to use Peter as footstool or something, but it would only really be fun at a party with other freaks like them, and they don't really go to those parties.

“I need more inside me,” Peter whines, crying out when Flash yanks on his hair and gives him a particularly hard thrust with his other hand.

“I'm not fucking you yet,” Flash says, shuddering at the piteous little noise Peter makes, “but don't worry, baby. I understand that that slutty little hole of yours needs to be stuffed.” Curt makes a high-pitched little noise at that and Flash can feel his cock twitch and spurt a little, and he has to grit his teeth and take a deep breath before grabbing the plug and pulling his fingers out to slick it up. Peter moans like he needed those fingers inside him to live, and Flash has a moment where he's afraid he's gonna jizz in his pants and ruin it. He doesn't, though, and gets the plug good and slippery. Once he's satisfied with it he shoves it into Peter with no preamble, making him arch his back and howl, huge eyes staring at the ceiling. “Yeah,” he growls, “you like that, don't you? Good little whore loves having his hole stretched.”

“I do,” Peter whimpers, his eyes filling with tears the way they sometimes do. The problem isn't that it weirds Flash out, but that it really turns him on and that makes him worry that he's a bad person. Peter keeps saying it's fine, though, and he moans, “Thankyouthankyouthankyou...” trailing off to pant and wriggle a little as the plug settles. It's not the biggest one Peter owns, but it's close, and he fucking loves it. 

Flash smiles down at him. “Good, baby?”

“So good, _fuck_...”

“There you go,” Flash says, taking Peter's hands and kissing them. “Roll over now, slut.”

Peter whimpers and rolls onto his belly, turning his face to watch Curt. Flash isn't jealous at all, and takes a glance, himself. Curt is gripping his cock like it's a handhold on reality, flushed and watching them with wide, bright eyes. Flash kneels up and shifts a bit, getting into position, and then slaps Peter's ass hard, making him moan and visibly clench around the plug.

“Oh, oh please, please more,” he whimpers, and cries out when Flash gives it to him. He whimpers and whines and sobs, staring at Curt. “Oh!” he mewls at a particularly hard strike, “oh sir, it hurts so much.” And he has never called Flash 'sir,' and it seems like he should be jealous, but it's just hot.

“We need you to bear it, sweetness,” Curt purrs. “You're so beautiful.”

“It doesn't just hurt, does it, boy?” Flash asks. He can't help a little genuine concern even though he knows Peter is loving this.

“Hurts good,” Peter whines, biting his lip as Flash gives him three more, hard and loud. They don't count strikes or use floggers or any of that, Flash just spanks Peter until his hand is red and numb, and now he moans and pushes his hips back into it.

“Yes,” Flash growls, “yes, I know what my little whore needs. He needs me to make it hurt.”

“Yes!” Peter gasps, and mewls as Flash spanks him again and again, until his ass is bright red all over.

“There,” Flash says, “that's enough. Now get on your knees and suck my cock.”

Peter moans, shaking all over before scrambling to obey, making impatient and hungry little noises as he waits for Flash to roll a condom onto his cock. He doesn't even need to put lube inside, already slick all over. The second he's covered Peter is on him, moaning and swallowing Flash as deep as he can get him. There's a few inches to spare and Flash doesn't let Peter touch them, fucking his mouth instead and making him whine low in his throat. Flash glances up and catches Curt's eyes and holds it as he rams his cock into Peter's pretty mouth over and over.


	13. Chapter 13

Peter groans around Flash's cock, his ass aching and burning in the best way, and his whole body registering Curt's intent gaze. Flash shoves forward a bit too hard and Peter gags, moaning as Flash pulls back to check on him. It's maddening, but sweet, too, and soon Peter is right back where he was, wondering if he's going to come just from Flash using him.

He doesn't get to really run the experiment, because Flash finally pulls out, peeling off the condom and staring down at him. “God, you're such a beautiful little slut,” he breathes, and Peter whimpers happily, resting his head on Flash's knee. Flash pets his hair for a moment and then helps him up onto the bed again. “Ready for me to pull that plug out and fuck your wet hole?” Flash says, and it's just the kind of thing that it will embarrass him to remember and Peter is so glad he's willing to share it with Curt.

“Like what you see, sir?” Peter asks when he's stretched out on his belly again, head turned to watch Curt.

“Yes,” he says softly, and bites his lip as he gives his cock a vicious squeeze.

“Oh, sir,” Peter breathes, “you're so rough with yourself.”

“And how would you treat me?” he asks, and Peter bites his lip and whines, getting his knees under himself and raising his hips as Flash finds the base of the plug, fingers pressing hard against Peter and making him squirm.

“Real gentle,” Peter says, biting his lip as Flash starts to tug. “Ohfuck, I'd, I'd lick you real slow and then try to take all of you. You're so long I probably couldn't, but I want to try, I want to gag on your cock, sir.”

“Jesus,” Curt whimpers, and Peter feels a deep, deep sense of satisfaction. And then his eyes are rolling back and his mouth is hanging open because Flash is pulling the plug out of him and it feels wrong and good and filthy. He cries out as the widest point forces him open and then trembles and catches his breath as Flash carefully checks his hole for damage. He's fine and he says so, begging Flash to fuck him continuously until he has his cock covered and slicked again and can can slam deep into Peter to shut him up. Well, at least as far as words go, because there's no way Peter can stop moaning as Flash pounds him. It's hard and brutal and exactly what Peter wants, and he just clings to Flash and begs to be used, for Flash to fuck him as hard as he wants as long as he wants, because he's Flash's toy and his hole is Flash's to use. He begs Flash to fuck him harder and harder, to hurt him, to make him take it. Curt is panting quietly, stroking himself faster and faster, and before Peter knows what he's doing he begs Flash to let Curt come on him.

“Sounds like a good idea to me,” Flash growls, flushed and sweaty but still moving fast and steady. “Where do you want it, slut? Where do you want him to paint you up like the whore you are?”

“My face,” Peter gasps, and Flash chuckles.

“Of course you do.” He looks over at Curt. “Come to the side of the bed and give my toy what he wants.”

“Thank you for sharing him,” Curt says softly, and Peter moans, watching Curt approach and then stand with his cock poised over his face. He closes his eyes, gasping and keening in the back of his throat as Flash slams into him and Curt's hand moves fast enough to create a light draft against his cheek. Both of them are quieter than he is, Flash aimed just right to make him cry out at every thrust while he just grunts with effort and Curt makes choked, barely audible sounds, gasping as he spatters Peter's face like he hasn't jerked off in a month. Flash groans and jerks Peter as roughly as he's fucking him, and they come so close together that it's almost the same thing.

Peter is floating now, a useless, melted mess as Flash takes the soiled towels out from underneath him and uses a dry spot to wipe his face and then the rest of him, coming back with actual disinfectant wipes to finish the job. It's hard to be sure, but he seems to offer one to Curt before Peter dozes off in his arms, feeling warm and safe and loved. He cuddles into Flash's arms, and mumbles that he wants Curt in bed, too.

“Curt,” Flash says, “come here and take the other side.”

“Gladly,” Curt says, and slides under the covers next to Peter, pressing against his back and sandwiching him away from anything that might ever bother him. He's wearing briefs and an undershirt, which is a little disappointing, but he kisses Peter's neck and tells him what a good boy he is.


	14. Chapter 14

Curt had almost forgotten what this bone-deep contentment felt like. Lying here with his arms around Peter, able to cradle a sweet, drowsy, fucked-out submissive for the first time in years, he feels like a missing piece he didn't even know about has slotted back into place. It's frightening feeling, but so good he hardly cares. Peter coos softly, his arms wrapped over theirs. Flash is watching him over Peter's head, and Curt has no idea what he's looking for.

Peter shivers and squeezes, so Curt holds him more tightly, kissing the top of his head. “Are you comfortable, sweet boy? Are you warm enough?”

“Yes, sir,” Peter says, “but keep holding me like this, 'kay?”

“Of course, sweetness,” Curt says, and Flash tightens his grip as well, drawing a happy little noise out of Peter. “We want our boy to feel safe and warm, because he's so precious and good.” Peter quivers and whines, burying his face in Flash's chest, the back of his neck flushing. Curt kisses him there and he sighs, putting one leg back and over Curt's, trying to draw him even closer. He follows the gesture and finds himself face to face with Flash, wide-eyed and blushing and looking so young that it makes Curt feel filthy.

“I... shit, can I kiss you?”

“Please,” Curt says, and Peter mewls as they press him between them, wriggling happily. Flash's lips are softer than Curt would have thought, and there's a very needy quality to his little growl and the way he presses as close as he can without crushing Peter. Curt shivers and deepens the kiss gradually, plotting Flash for future reference. He tastes every part of his mouth and gently bites his lower lip when they finally have to part to breathe.

“Fuck,” Flash whimpers, and kisses him again. Curt sighs, his arm stretching to hug them both, his stump partially under Peter and just waiting for him to so much as breathe wrong at its hyperactive nerves, but right now he can't worry about that.

“Such a good boy,” Curt hears himself murmuring into Flash's mouth. “Taking such good care of Peter.” They haven't talked about this at all, but Flash whines and shakes, gazing into his eyes with such a helpless expression that Curt keeps praising him between soft kisses, rubbing his back and only looking away from him to press a few kisses to Peter's wild hair, each one making him make a high, muffled little noise of utter contentment.

Flash chuckles, breathless. “God, he is so fucking cute.”

“I know,” Curt says, smiling. “Really most awfully unbearably cute. And so are you,” he says softly, kissing Flash's cheek. The earpiece of his glasses is starting to dig into the side of his head, but he can't bear not seeing every detail of his adorable bedmates.

“Thanks,” Flash says, after a long, warm silence, and Curt chuckles.

“You're always welcome to the truth, Flash.”

He shakes his head, blushing and hugging Peter. “No, I mean thanks for everything. For being here, and... and. Yeah.”

And Curt must be out of his mind, because just kisses Flash and then nuzzles along his cheek to whisper into his ear, “Do you like being told what a good boy you are?” 

His heart pounds as the words leave his mouth, sure that this is the wrong thing to say, too much and too soon, but Flash whispers, “Yes,” burying his face in Peter's hair. 

Curt kisses the top of his nearly-bald head, heart seized with unbearable tenderness at the pink vulnerability of Flash's ears from this angle. “Good, because you're always welcome to the truth. You're a very good boy, and so is Peter. I'm so glad you invited me here tonight.” He continues in the same vein, holding both of them until they doze off and then setting his glasses aside and just feeling their breath and warmth until he joins them.

A terrible stabbing, burning pain wakes Curt a few hours later. He makes a muffled sound of agony and rolls over, clutching at the midpoint of the stump and curling into a ball, gritting his teeth and trying to take deep, even breaths. He usually doesn't sleep on that side, but of course he couldn't bear to turn away from Peter and Flash before, and now he's paying the price. There's no point in waking anyone, it's not as if these two perfect specimens have a TENS unit lying around, and they need their sleep.

Despite all Curt's efforts to be quiet, Peter's callused hands are suddenly on his shoulders. “Curt?”

“Stump pain,” he hisses through his teeth. “Didn't mean to wake you.”

“Aw...” Peter rubs his shoulders. “Anything I can do?”

Curt directs him the satchel, which has his painkillers. And his antidepressant, his anxiolytic, and vitamin D3 for luck. It makes him feel ancient, but Peter is soon back with the right pills and a glass of water. He puts his glasses on again and takes one even though he should probably eat something first, and puts his arm around Peter as they wait for it to take effect.


	15. Chapter 15

Flash is a pretty heavy sleeper, but he eventually notices that Peter is gone, and that irks him into consciousness. He's sitting up with Curt, and Flash feels jealous for about a tenth of a second before he realizes that Curt's stump is hurting him.

“Aw, shit,” he says, sitting up, “were you not supposed to sleep on it?”

“Generally speaking, no. I'm sorry I woke you.”

“Don't be,” he says, rubbing his eyes and yawning. “We were probably gonna wake up to eat again anyway.” Curt nods, and then sighs, relaxing a little. “Drugs kicking in?”

“I believe so,” Curt says, cracking his neck.

Peter sighs, leaning across his chest. Flash can't really see, but he's at the right angle to be kissing Curt's stump, and Curt stiffens and gasps. “Sorry!” Peter yelps. “Did I hurt it?”

“N-no,” Curt says, sounding stunned. And fucking hot, and Flash scrambles to sit on the other side of him. Peter smiles, and leans toward the stump again. Curt stares down at him, his lips parting as Peter kisses another of the deep, pink scars. Peter shivers and just barely breathes over it and Curt whimpers, his eyes huge.

“Is that good, sir?” 

“Y-yes,” he breathes and glory motherfucking hallelujah, he's starting to get hard again and that's fucking beautiful.

“Oh, wow,” Flash says softly as Peter starts covering the scarred stump with little wet kisses and Curt moans, his glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose. “Hey, Curt?” he kinda wants to call him 'sir,' but they should probably talk about this shit more. As it is, he just asks for what he wants. “Is it okay if I touch your dick?”

Curt laughs through another quiet moan, and nods. “Y-yes, you may feel free to touch my dick.”

Peter snickers and kisses the pale, perfect inside of Curt's upper arm, making him gasp. “So kind of you.”

Flash has enormous man-hands, but he can be very gentle when he wants to, and he grips Curt carefully, just getting a feel for him. He wobbles a bit, and Flash grins. “Come on, let's get you more comfortable.” He nods, and helps them shift him onto his back in the middle of the bed. They're incredibly careful of the tip of his stump, and he sighs when Flash settles beside him, stroking and squeezing as Peter keeps kissing his right arm.

“My good boys,” Curt murmurs, and Flash makes a noise that surprises and embarrasses him. He hides his face in Curt's neck, but doesn't stop stroking him.

“Fuck,” he mumbles, “why do I like it so much?”

“Same reason I do,” Peter says, gently biting Curt's shoulder. “It makes you feel good.”

“You're so goddamn embarrassing, Parker,” Flash mutters, and Curt laughs, the sound turning into a quiet cry when Flash squeezes him. They shouldn't cross any more boundaries tonight, so Flash sticks to a hand job with Peter helping and fucking worshiping Curt's stump. It's weird but also totally hot to see Curt actually feeling good from something that's usually such a pain in the ass for him, and Flash tries to say so even if he's way better at calling people names. He really needs dom lessons or something, and Curt might be just the guy. For now he concentrates on getting him off, though. Watching a guy as quiet and controlled as Curt writhing and struggling not to be too loud is fucking amazing. He makes a broken, desperate noise when he comes, shaking and whimpering softly as Flash slows down and eases up and Peter keeps kissing his right arm.

“Peter, please,” he says at last, gently pushing Peter's head away. 

Peter grins, rock hard again. “Sorry.”

“Mm, don't be,” Curt says, and Peter laughs. Curt just lies there and drowsily pets whatever he can reach while Flash cleans his hands and then while he and Peter jerk each other off. It's quick and frantic and they hardly even kiss. Flash at least is desperately hungry now, and the second Peter is done coming his stomach growls. The little giggle Curt lets out at that is somewhere between off-putting and adorable. Peter laughs, rolling over to kiss his cheek.

“Do you have views on what kind of takeout we're getting?”

“...Pizza's easy to eat with one hand,” Curt says, and yawns.

That's a little depressing, but Peter is fucking great and just asks him what he wants on it while Flash lurches up to find the menu, feeling like the luckiest guy in the world.


End file.
